


What Kind of Man

by patriciatepes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Gen, Missing Scene, Season/Series 11, Stabbing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 16:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17749565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciatepes/pseuds/patriciatepes
Summary: Lucifer, in Castiel's meatsuit, has a little surprise for his puppy.





	What Kind of Man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was going to be my fill for the square "torture" on my hc-bingo card. Now, I've finished this for wipbigbang challenge for 2019. The challenge is all about getting small WIPs done in time for International Fanworks Day. This is sort of a continuation of another long one-shot of mine called [Bedroom Hymns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656993). You don't necessarily have to read that one to understand this one, as I'll only be referencing it here. But if you do, I'd be very thankful. (Rating on Bedroom Hymns is Explicit.) Title is inspired by the Florence + the Machine song of the same name.

It was hard to see him in Castiel's body, Crowley would admit. It certainly wasn't the _hardest_ part of being Lucifer's pet doggy—dressed disgustingly in khaki cargo pants and an overlarge Hawaiian print shirt—but it wasn't an easy part either. Crowley was grudgingly fond of Feathers, and to hear Lucifer's cruel words and feel his beatings come from Cas's meatsuit was like adding insult to… well, more insult and injury.

Lucifer sat on the throne— _Crowley's_ throne—legs crossed, nodding along to each and every black-eyed idiot that came to kowtow to the fallen angel, the supposed "true" leader of Hell. Like Lucifer had ever, in the history of ever, done anything for Hell. Being imprisoned there was the one and only item on the list. Crowley, meanwhile, had worked his fingers to the bone, ordering and organizing. The soul count had never been higher before he took the seat. And what did he get for his trouble? The grumbling hatred of his fellow demons, and a seat on the stone step at Lucifer's feet, a spiked collar locked around his neck.

"Enough," Lucifer droned, and every demon in the room's eyes snapped up, and then back down respectfully. "We're taking a break. Get out. Get souls. Possess. You know, be demons. But don't come back until I call. Understand?"

A simultaneous answer of "Yes, Lord Lucifer," sounded, and the demons filed out of the room. It made Crowley sick. But, given his predicament, he couldn't even risk scowling his displeasure. His wounds were healing, and he still had the taste of floor on his tongue. If he wanted out of these chains and back on his throne, he had to play this smart. Once the room was empty, Lucifer playfully tugged on Crowley's chain-link "leash."

"Alone at last. You know what, doggy? I feel _real bad_ about how you were treated earlier. So, I got you a treat."

Crowley dared to glance up at him. His face was pulled downward in a mocking frown. Crowley cringed, making it nice and visible. Then, making sure to avert his gaze, he asked, "A treat, my master?"

"Would you like that? Would puppy like a surprise? Come on," Lucifer said, springing to his feet.

He unhooked his end of the leash, holding it in his hand, and began to walk. He paused when Crowley didn't immediately move, arching a brow at him. Fighting all the urges to rage, spit, and curse, Crowley, on all fours, turned and followed.

Lucifer led him out of the throne room and up a hall to the right, where several patient rooms of the asylum were located. They went all the way to the end, to a room that had once been a small medical bay. All the medical supplies, save for a cabinet or two here and there, had been cleaned out, and in Crowley's time as king, he had yet to come up with a creative use for the room. But Lucifer entered confidently, with Crowley crawling in after him. The door was shut after him, and Lucifer snapped his fingers, turning on the florescent, overhead lights.

Crowley could see that a medical curtain had been set up directly in front of them that ran almost the width of the room, completely obscuring the view of what lay within—and Crowley was under no illusions; it was nothing good. At the left end of the curtain was just a little space left so one could easily walk around the erected screen. Lucifer headed for this opening, half dragging Crowley behind him.

"Oh, you're going to _love_ this," he chuckled as they rounded the end of the curtain and stopped.

Crowley looked up from the floor and had to fight hard not to react. In the center of the room was a mattress, an old one judging by the color, and restrained to that mattress by a rather ingenious method of ties and Enochian, was the angel Naomi. She looked a touch different than the last time Crowley had seen her—hair a bit longer and almost white in color. She was in her usual business suit, and it was so impeccably clean that it made her a stark contrast to the rest of the dingy room.

"Thought she was dead, huh?" Lucifer asked.

Crowley wasn't sure how to react. He was expecting torture instruments, not an angel he had boinked once. A tug on his collar, causing it to dig into the flesh of his neck, let him quickly know that a verbal response had been expected.

"I did, Master," he muttered, eyes on the floor.

"Well, there's a reason why you need an angel blade to kill an angel, and the instrument that dear Naomi was stabbed in the brain with was not an angel blade. I found her, resting and recovering, on my last trip to Heaven. And I had heard a rumor, even down in my cage. Now… I wonder how true it is."

He knew. Of course he fucking knew. When Crowley got his throne back, he was gonna weasel out every single black-eyed bastard with even the slightest leanings toward Lucifer and make them _pay_. Crowley kept his eyes on the floor. He could feel eyes on him, and he had a feeling that Naomi was still staring blankly at the ceiling. He could feel the smarmy grin on Lucifer's face too.

"Rumor has it, doggy, that _you_ are the reason that little Naomi is a woman now," he chuckled.

It wasn't actually a question, per se, so Crowley kept his mouth shut. Naomi, likewise, was staring soundlessly up at the ceiling. Lucifer grinned, and it was in moments like that which slammed home the fact that this certainly wasn't the Winchesters' favored feathered companion in control of this meatsuit. Castiel would have never smiled anything like that.

"Ah. I see. Well, then, this certainly is a treat for you."

He began to walk forward, Crowley's leash still in hand. Crowley began to move, to crawl, along after him, his eyes scanning his surroundings a little more closely. He saw it now, just before Lucifer dragged him over the line—a devil's trap. It was rather large, and Naomi's mattress was in the center of it. Crowley gave the merest hint of struggle before Lucifer gave an almighty tug on the chain, pulling Crowley's body fully within the trap. He was stuck. Best he could hope for was that he could manage to use his chain, somehow, to break a line. But that would have to be done outside of Lucifer's watchful eye. Crowley may have had no patience for others, but when it came to his own well-being, he had it in abundance.

Now, Lucifer stood over Naomi, whose eyes had not even flicked in his direction, and he grinned. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's leash went from being in his hand, to staked in the cement just outside the trap. Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest and glanced between the demon and the silent angel.

"Ouch. Nothing to say to your former lover boy?" Lucifer asked.

Naomi didn't so much as blink. Lucifer rolled his eyes. Sighing, he turned to Crowley.

"You see, I've been having my fun with pretty, prudent Naomi. But… I've hit a roadblock."

He gestured to her still, ever-gazing-upward form on the mattress. The devil shrugged and moved until he was standing on the mattress's other side, allowing Crowley—were he to crawl forward several paces—clear access to Naomi. He didn't move. He didn't know how to get it through the angel's feathered brain, but Crowley _wasn't_ stupid.

"I can make her scream," Lucifer said, conversationally.

He snapped his fingers, and Naomi's body stiffened further. Crowley could see the fight, and he could guess at the pain she was experiencing. After a moment, she could no longer hold herself so stoic. She began to writhe against her restraints, shrieking so loudly as her body fought to curl and contort to get away from the pain that it was a wonder that Crowley had yet to hear her in any previous torture session. Lucifer let out a lengthy sigh—more visible than audible, due to Naomi's continued screams—and Crowley could feel his eyes upon him, rather than the angel chained to the floor.

In one horrifying moment, Crowley thought that maybe Dean was right. Maybe, because of the human blood, Crowley _had_ changed. Because, before… before that night in that damned church, something like this wouldn't have fazed him. He might have even laughed. Or even been aroused by the display. Now… well, there was a touch of arousal there, but mostly, he just wanted it to stop.

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Naomi stopped screaming. She took a single, shuddering breath before settling back into her stare-down with the ceiling. It was impressive that she was able to proverbially walk off a torture session like that. Honestly, that too was a bit of a turn-on. Lucifer shook his head.

"Do you see? I mean, I torture, and I torture, and I torture… and still… nothing. She's not begging for mercy. No tears. It's like nothing has even happened to her. Puppy, I'm just outta ideas."

Crowley highly doubted that. He was pretty damn sure that Lucifer never ran out of ideas—most likely a by-product of all that time trapped in the cage. The only question that remained to Crowley was why the devil had the Devil brought him here. That seemed to be written on his face, as Lucifer was still smiling at him. The demon suppressed a grimace, wishing more and more for Castiel than he ever thought he would. He refused to dignify Lucifer with a response. Instead, like an actual dog, he simply sat back on his haunches. Lucifer rolled his eyes.

"You were the King, known for dolling out torture sessions like it was nothing… and you don't have an opinion, puppy?"

Naomi, again, was unmoving. Crowley's eyes scanned her still form, trying his best to figure out if she was still in pain… or something. Anything.

"Oh," Lucifer said dramatically, slapping the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Silly me. I forgot that I was asking about your girlfriend. Well, then… I guess I'm gonna have to go with plan B."

Again, probably his plan A. Crowley was as quiet as the grave as Lucifer snapped his fingers. A surgical tray, complete with rusty tools, appeared just outside of the Devil's Trap. Lucifer strolled over to the tray and picked up a nasty, serrated knife, and knelt down by Naomi. Crowley's hands curled into fists, and he hid them behind his legs. The Devil wearing Castiel's face was ever-grinning. He held the knife over her navel—which was covered by a white button-down blouse and a bit of the gray jacket she favored. He kept his eyes on Crowley as he lowed the tip of the knife down to the shirt. Then, slowly, agonizingly so, he kept pressing it down. Naomi's lip twitched, Crowley knew that she was feeling this. It was remarkable, however, how well she was keeping it together. The last angel Crowley had tortured had screamed at the slightest cut. Naomi looked like she was trying to ignore a bothersome fly. It _was_ impressive.

Lucifer continued his slow pushing of the knife until it was through all the way to the hilt. Naomi's lip quivered, but not a sound escaped. Crowley could see the spark of rage in Lucifer's eye at this. Crowley, meanwhile, was trying not to smile. If anyone could silently tell Lucifer to go suck a dick, it would be Naomi. Quickly, and roughly, Lucifer removed the knife. He turned, glaring down at Naomi.

"Just a few, itty bitty tears? I mean, really? That's all I want. Maybe a whimpered begging for mercy. How about it?"

Naomi didn't even look in his direction. Lucifer's lip curled and he stabbed downward, fast and hard, with the knife. He pulled it free of Naomi's meatsuit just as quickly, only to stab downwards. He did this over and over, making a mess of her entire torso. Only a slight grimace was visible on the angel's face. In truth, it was Crowley that squirmed.

"Just." _Stab._ "A few." _Stab_. "Tears!"

"Why am I here?" Crowley said suddenly.

He immediately wished he had kept his damn mouth shut. Lucifer stopped his assault on Naomi, turning to glare at Crowley. He stood and stalked toward the demon. Crowley bowed his head.

"My apologies, my master," he muttered.

"Are you… ungrateful for your treat?" Lucifer asked.

"No, my master. Thank you."

He felt ill. It had been years since he had had to kowtow like this. He had done his time. Now, this archangel with daddy issues sat on _his_ throne, making _him_ beg. He wanted Lucifer to rot. Now, however, he was looming over Crowley, Naomi's blood still dripping from the knife he held.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Crowley knew that anytime someone asked that question, it was better to see how it played out. Lucifer let out a low laugh.

"Yes, I think that's it. But… are you jealous because I'm playing with her and you'd rather be the one to do so… or are you jealous that I'm playing with her and _not you_?"

Crowley cowered, hating it, but he did it anyway. Sometimes, you had to give a little to keep your own delicate ass safe. If Lucifer was pleased enough by his cowering and the slight recoil away from him, then maybe he would look over Crowley's outburst. But, after a long moment, the bloodied knife began to rise, and its intended target was clear. Crowley cursed the Winchesters and all of humanity for imbuing within him this weakness of feeling. He dared another glance toward Naomi, wondering if the feathered princess would deign to do for him what he had—albeit unintentionally—done for her. The knife rose agonizingly slow, as Lucifer seemed to study him with the piercing blue eyes that Crowley was used to seeing Castiel's curious stare looking out from. Now, they were alight with mischief and destruction. However, just before he could make a decision, the room's door opened. A demon—some unremarkable, black-eyed henchman inhabiting the body of a young black man in his mid-twenties—rounded the curtain.

"Lord Lucifer!" he cried, stopping short when he saw the scene laid before him.

Lucifer's free hand rose threateningly as the knife fell limply to his side. He held his fingers up, seconds away from snapping them. "Better be good, Lawrence."

Crowley marveled at Lucifer's ability to care enough to know the names of the demons. It was something that he would actually have to take note of when he took the throne again. Damn him.

"Uh-uh, forgive me, Lord Lucifer, but an emergency. You told me to report to you anything on the Winchesters and their searches. They're on the move."

Lucifer's hand dropped, and the demon visibly sighed his relief. He shook his head, eyeing both Crowley and Naomi. "Fun time cut short. I'll be back in a moment. No funny business you two… or else I'll have to turn a hose on you."

Knife still in hand, he stalked out of the room, the demon following him with updates on Moose and Squirrel. Now, they were alone. True, Crowley was stuck in the Devil's Trap. Also true, he could easily use his chain to scratch through a line. But… was the reward greater than the risk? He still couldn't get out of the damn chain.

"Crowley."

Naomi's curt, succinct voice startled him. He glared at her, moving until he sat on his rear on the floor—the chain not being long enough for him to stand.

"Naomi. So nice of you to join us, darling. Still alive, I see."

"I'm still healing from the damage Metatron dealt me, if that's what you're wondering about. I couldn't run."

"Yes, but you can bloody well talk, can't you now? I cry out to stop him from hurting you further, but you can't do the same for me? Even for old times' sake?"

"That was… surprising. But the angels, what few are left, have kept me appraised of what happened to you. A byproduct?"

Crowley growled, rolling his eyes. "Doesn't matter. We're both well and truly stuck."

She arched a brow at him, and Crowley felt rage roll through his body. She had just been tortured, stabbed repeatedly—blood was still soaking her abdomen, and now she had the audacity to look at him like he was the one to be worried over. He snarled at her. "What?"

"Nothing. You just didn't seem like the defeatist type, Crowley."

"Strong words from the one who has been silently chained to a mattress, not saying a word. Who backed Raphael. Who ran back to Heaven the moment things were getting interesting."

"Silence isn't defeat. Not always. And I _need_ to get back to Heaven, Crowley."

"And I _need_ to get out of this damn tourist-trap nightmare of an outfit."

She smirked, taking in the shirt and the shorts. "It truly doesn't suit you, does it? Though, you do have nice legs."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, darling. What has you so concerned anyway? The Darkness?"

"One of many problems, yes. I need you to help me escape, Crowley."

"Would you be taking me with you now?"

Naomi returned to her previously silent state. Crowley scoffed. "Thought as much. You run off to do whatever it is you actually do, and… what? I'm stuck here, getting the brunt of Lucifer's wrath. How does that incline me to help you?"

"I can make it worth your while. I can make it look like I managed the escape on my own and beat you."

"Oh, yes, keep talking, dear. I do love dirty talk, though I hardly think it appropriate in our current constraints."

Naomi rolled her eyes, and Crowley grinned. It was nice to know that he could still get a rise out of her if he tried hard enough.

"Have you heard of the Hands of God?" she asked.

Now she had his attention. He nodded, once. She continued.

"I can get you one. I know where it is hidden. It has the touch of God Himself upon it. Enough power, easily, to defeat Lucifer."

Crowley leaned back, causally throwing a glance toward the room's entrance. He could hear no sounds of approaching demons or archangels, so he turned back to the angel on the bed. "And what sort of guarantee would I have for this?"

"I would leave it in a secure location of your choosing. We can make my escape look like I overpowered you, making Lucifer less inclined to torture you as a result of it, then, once you make your escape, you can retrieve it and use it to kill him."

She tugged lightly on her bonds. She was right. Where he was stuck with his chain because of the inscriptions on the spikes, the inscription on hers—which kept her in check—meant next to nothing to him. A few hard pulls and he could snap it in two.

"Why not just take me with you?"

Naomi blinked, shaking her head. "He's been torturing me for… days, I believe. Perhaps longer. I don't have the power to break your bond. What strength I have is the very little I've kept to escape this place. But… you've always been crafty, Crowley. You probably already have some plans in place to escape."

He had a couple. And one more now… with the promise of a Hand of God…

"My word is my bond. What about yours, Naomi? After all, one is a little hesitant to trust Heaven's resident brainwasher."

"I give you my word, Crowley. Release me, and I'll put the Hand in a place of your choosing."

"What is it, exactly?"

"The Staff of Moses."

Crowley let out a low whistle. As far as powerful ones go, that had to be high up on the list. He made another furtive glance back toward the room's entrance. Finally, he sighed.

"Don't double cross me, angel. You will regret it."

"My word, Crowley."

At this, Crowley crawled forward and took up one of her wrists in his hand. He worked his fingers underneath the cuff, gripping as much as he could, and pulled. It took a couple of tries, but, finally, it bent and broke. He repeated the same move with the other three cuffs. Now freed, Naomi's eyes lit with the light of her Grace, and she swung her legs off the mattress and stood.

"I have to make this look good, you understand?" she asked.

"You better. There's a warehouse of goodies I keep. Touch nothing but leave the Hand there. I trust you'll find a way inside."

Hurriedly, he shared the address. She nodded, reeled her fist back, and brought it crashing down to crunch against his face. He cried out, trying to keep the noise to a minimum—to buy her time. She landed a couple of other blows, leaving him bleeding and crumpled on the ground, before turning and scaling up the wall to a ground-level window. She busted it out, shimmied through, and was gone. Crowley sighed.

Moments later, Lucifer came rushing through the door. He took the scene in with one sweeping glance and roared. He stalked over to Crowley, broke a line in the Devil's Trap with the heel of his loafer, and yanked the chain of his leash until he held it again.

"Bad guard doggie. Though, I suppose, she got the best of you. Best back to the kennel with you, just in case."

He was practically dragging Crowley along the ground and out of the room. Crowley made nothing but little whining noises as they went, but inwardly, he hoped that his little gamble with Naomi had paid off. A few minutes later, he was thrown inside one of the small cages, his "kennel." He rested his head back against the cool stone wall. So far, the plan worked. Naomi was free, and he was still alive. It was her move now.


End file.
